


away from all these useless fears, and change

by TheRangress



Category: Cosmere - Brandon Sanderson, Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: M/M, Shard Pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-08-02
Packaged: 2018-07-28 19:27:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7653793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheRangress/pseuds/TheRangress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Visions from a fallen Radiant and a remade Shard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	away from all these useless fears, and change

Dalinar still expected to see his son. When he looked around, he saw glimpses of Renarin training with Glys, or walking with a friend from Bridge Four, or just standing in the corners of Urithiru watching people come and go.

Navani caught his hand when she saw him watching. Nobody had quite adjusted, and still they looked for him. It was quite foolish.

He passed Kaladin in the hallway, and each half expected Renarin at the other’s side.

Kaladin had been careless at his work lately, but it was hard to be angry. The boy always took loss hard, and it was hard to fault him for the love that made him such a fearsome commander. Renarin had been not only Kaladin’s friend or his soldier, but his brother in all but blood. It was hard to keep going after a loss that deep.

Renarin wasn’t all he had lost in that battle. Half the spren were gone. They had vanished, without a trace. The Stormfather could be found no more, and neither could Sylphrena. Every one of them had been set adrift in a colder, emptier world.

“Everything’s prepared for the highstorm, sir.”

“Good to hear, son.”

Adolin was in Kholinar, or at least so Dalinar hoped. Renarin was dead. Kaladin was all the son Dalinar had left. He had found him a worthy and needing son, and loved him dearly. He reached over to touch the boy’s shoulder, watching carefully for any reaction. Kaladin hadn’t shaved in a few days, and barely slept. His hair was tangled, and his coat only carelessly half buttoned.

“Should I find Navani?” he asked, pulling back from the touch.

Navani. His wife. She’d talked him into it eventually, since the Desolation had already begun. That was the last time Adolin had returned to Urithiru, before leaving again to fight the battles in Kholinar. The last time Adolin and Renarin had seen each other.

“No,” Dalinar said. “No. There will be no visions. Hard as it is to accept, I am afraid we must.”

Kaladin nodded. He didn’t move, but he watched for Dalinar to walk on. The double meaning had to be clear to him.

They’d both come to comfort Renarin, through his visions. The futures he’d seen seldom gave hope. Long ago now, Renarin had spent the first few highstorms after the discovery of Urithiru and the Everstorm in his father’s arms, the way he’d spent nightmares as a child. And Dalinar had held his son, the same way he’d held his corpse.

He’d been so far away when Renarin died. Dalinar was too old for the battlefield now. It was a place for the young men, for his sons, even if Adolin’s battlefield was even further away. When Renarin fought, often it was by Kaladin’s side. They had been separated that day.

Neither of them would ever forgive themselves for not knowing where it was Renarin had fallen. They had found him only in his final moments, when somebody had carried him to the sidelines, out of respect or hope.

“My men,” Kaladin said. “They expect me for dinner.”

Dalinar broke from his thoughts. “Best for a captain not to keep his men waiting.”

“Yes,” Kaladin said. He turned his head, but didn’t quite turn to move.

“You will survive,” Dalinar said softly. “Even if you don’t want to.”

“I should have been able to save him,” Kaladin said softly, tense and turned away. He didn’t move his head. “Maybe Syl would have known how I could survive now.”

“Son.” Dalinar returned his hand to Kaladin’s shoulder, waiting until he knew the boy wouldn’t move it. “I should have been able to save my brother. Someday, though it seems impossible, you will be able to live with it.”

“I already lost a brother.” Kaladin took a deep, ragged breath. “How many more, Dalinar?”

It was a moment before he could speak again. There was nothing but the truth, however hard it was to bear. Lying would do Kaladin no good. “Too many, and it only gets harder.”

“I don’t know why I should survive.” The boy pulled away again. “Just to go through this again.”

“Because it is what Renarin would want,” Dalinar said, “And Sylphrena. And so that Adolin does not lose a brother, nor Bridge Four their captain. Nor I another son.”

Kaladin exhaled slowly and looked up. It was hard to tell whether youth or age struck you more in his face— Kaladin was still a very young man, but he wore the weariness of age in every aspect. He nodded slowly, brushing the hair back from his face.

“You aren’t alone in this,” Dalinar said. “Many have lost their spren. And I… I share in the blame for Renarin’s death. We both failed him, son. I can’t see how I’m meant to live with this myself. Yet I know I can, and I must.”

Dalinar closed his eyes, trying to forget the sound of his son’s last breath.

“Perhaps,” he said slowly, “it is a penance for our failure.”

Kaladin drew close, first resting his hand on Dalinar’s arm, and then softly resting his head against his shoulder. Dalinar allowed himself a smile and held Kaladin in his arms.

They rested there for a moment, sharing in their ache.

“I shouldn’t keep my men waiting,” Kaladin said, stepping back.

“You shouldn’t,” Dalinar agreed. “If you ever need to speak about this, Kaladin…”

“Perhaps we should speak about it.” Kaladin did up a coat button. “Tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow,” Dalinar agreed. “Good night, Captain.”

Kaladin nodded. He was still scruffy, still wore exhaustion down to his bones, but he stood a little straighter and held his head a little higher. He turned without another word, and Dalinar watched him go.

The highstorm would hit them soon. Navani was working a long night on their fabrials, crucial logistics of Urithiru. Even more crucial with so many Surgebinders gone. Dalinar would be alone tonight.

He nodded to the ghost in the corner, and turned for his rooms.

 

* * *

 

The palace in Kholinar had burned. Yet it was there Dalinar stood now, in the gardens where his sons had played.

He knew this had to be a vision. They had stopped. And they had never been  _ here _ . It couldn’t be a vision.

“I’ve been trying to get this to work for a while now.”

Dalinar turned. There stood a figure in Kholin blue.

For a moment he almost took it for himself, far younger. But no, the features were too delicate. And this man— this man’s hair was streaked with gold.

He smiled, and Dalinar didn’t dare believe. The young man bit on his lip and stepped forward, his eyes pained.

“Father.”

Dalinar spoke not a word. He rushed forward, pulling his son tight into his arms and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“Renarin,” he choked, tousling the boy’s hair and kissing the top of his head again.

“Father,” Renarin repeated, clinging to his father’s shirt.

“How can this…” Dalinar shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. You’re here, son. My son.”

“Father,” Renarin said once more, gingerly pulling back from his father’s arms. “I am Honor.”

“Honor is dead,” Dalinar said.

“So I am.” Renarin cracked a smile. “I was remade, at the right time for Renarin to take up Honor as he died. I’m not truly Renarin. Not anymore. Honor, and Tanavast, and… Most of me is Renarin, I think. But there is so much in me, and Tanavast knows that bearing a Shard changes a man. I never was that honorable.”

“You were the greatest honor a father could wish for,” Dalinar said.

“I can’t see the future anymore.” Renarin knelt, running his fingers along a rockbud. “There are vague intuitions, but nothing like the visions. In a way, Father, I have everything I ever wished for. I am a god. That is far from useless. The visions are gone, and… I am not Renarin anymore. Free from my blood weakness, free from whatever my madness was…”

“You were never mad,” Dalinar said, kneeling beside his son and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Renarin, I never allowed you to say such things of yourself before, and now…”

“Now I’m dead.” He gave another smile. “I’ve been watching. Trying to find a way to speak… I’m sorry it took so long.”

“You are dead.”

This was the son he had held, dying. The son whose pyre he’d seen burn. Now this son came to him in a vision and said he was Honor. A god, the Almighty himself.

Renarin gently pressed his head to his father’s chest. “It wasn’t hard,” he said softly. “It didn’t really hurt. There was hardly any time to really notice. I always hoped dying would be that way.”

“You are dead,” Dalinar said, cradling his son in his arms. He’d held Renarin’s body this way. Now, he held his son’s soul. “You had finally found yourself, son, and I was so proud. Your life… there is so much of life you can never know now…”

“I always wanted to die in battle,” Renarin said. “I can help, as Honor. I can do so much. I will learn, and we will be saved. That life is such a small price to pay for all I can save now.”

“But it was yours,” Dalinar said. “No benefit changes the fact that you should have lived. And that I should still have my son.”

Renarin hadn’t clung so tightly since he was very small, and Dalinar hadn’t cupped his face this way either.

He wiped the tears from his son’s eyes, and paid no mind to his own.

“From now on,” Renarin said, “I’ll have to be the one looking out for you, Father. How strange a thought.”

“No,” Dalinar said. “It isn’t strange at all.”

Renarin pressed once again into his father’s chest. Dalinar’s breath caught as he slowly stroked his son’s hair.

He didn’t understand. But he was with his son again. What more did he need to know?

“Renarin,” Dalinar said. “At times, I know I wasn’t the father you deserved. I allowed you to think you needed to be a soldier. I never saw how it pained you. I disregarded you. It nearly destroyed you, and I never saw.”

“I was everything you ever wanted of me,” Renarin said. “In the end.”

“Yes, you were. You were happy,” Dalinar said. “And you grew into an extraordinary man. That is all I ever wanted for you, son. Not a soldier. You were always strong in your own way.”

“I was a soldier, though. And I fought well.” His head nestled closer into Dalinar’s chest. “Being a soldier made me happy.”

“You died, Renarin,” Dalinar said. “I would give anything to keep you from being a soldier.”

“I wasn’t good enough.” He spoke quietly, curling all he could against his father’s chest. He had grown into a man, and Dalinar had been wondering for years when he had lost the little boy. “I’m sorry I wasn’t good enough, Father.”

“You were always good enough.”

Renarin choked back his breath, and Dalinar held him close and tight. Nothing would ever take Renarin from him again. He refused. This was his son, and he would never let him go. Not even death.

He was unashamed of his own tears.

Renarin would have lived, had Dalinar been a better father. This was his little boy. He had made mistakes, he had been a worse man when Renarin was a child, and he had raised his son to be a soldier. He had raised Renarin to die.

“I love you, son.”

Renarin nodded gently, gripping his father’s shoulders like a lifeline. “I never doubted.”

A moment longer he clung, and then he pulled away.

He looked at the city beyond, clutching his hands behind his back.

This wasn’t Renarin. Not quite. He had his brother’s broad shoulders, a warrior’s build that Renarin had never quite grown into. His jaw was stronger. He stood like a soldier, even clutching his hands in his nervous way.

“I am Honor, Father,” he said. “I’m the Almighty himself. Me. The coward and the disgrace. I know, I know. I was always more than they said. But  _ this _ , Father. It can’t possibly be true, and yet…”

“You have always had honor, son.” Dalinar stood behind him. Kholinar had burned. The buildings they looked out on bore the haze of a memory. Renarin had been no more than a boy the last time he’d set foot in this garden. Everything was larger, the way a boy would see it. This was how Renarin remembered Kholinar.

Dalinar understood nothing. He had faith enough that Renarin must. He’d always seen rare wisdom and insight from his son. A few steps brought him to Renarin’s side, where he put a hand on his shoulder.

“What does this mean?” he asked.

“I…” Renarin bowed his shoulders. “I am dead. That hasn’t changed. I simply… haven’t moved on. Instead, I… I don’t know how to explain it. I’m a god.”

He looked down at his hands, shaking his head.

“I can’t come back. I’ll always be here, watching over you. I’ll be fighting Odium in my own way. And every highstorm I can… I’ll stop by. I swear.”

Dalinar ran a hand through his son’s hair, leaving it disheveled. He spoke quietly. “How are you doing?”

“Not very well,” Renarin admitted, leaning against his father. “I don’t know what I’m doing, and… I want to be home, Father. I want to be with my family. How can I be a god? Everything rests with me now. If I make a mistake…”

“You won’t,” Dalinar said. “Renarin, I have the utmost faith in you. You won’t fail.”

He nodded slowly, taking his father’s hand. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“I couldn’t be more proud, son,” he said.

 

* * *

 

The walls of Urithiru were solid and gray. Dalinar was slumped in a corner, Navani watching him, cradling his head.

“You were speaking to Renarin,” she said.

He could see it in her eyes. Navani hoped.

Dalinar struggled for words, pulling himself up and taking Navani’s hands.

“Honor lives.”

 

* * *

 

It was a dark night, but there was a fire in the distance. Kaladin could half hear a song, most of the voices out of key. He couldn’t tell you what the song was, but he knew it by heart.

The Shattered Plains stretched out before him, and someone sat watching Bridge Four’s fire.

“Almighty.”

Kaladin backed away slowly. The shoulders were too broad, but that was Renarin’s hair. That was Renarin.

“Actually,” and that was Renarin’s voice, soft and almost breaking, “that’s right.”

“You’re dead.” Kaladin took another step back. “You died, Renarin. I still can’t get clean of your blood. What are you doing here now?”

He wanted to run. Forward or away? Kaladin ached to grab Renarin, but to hold tight or to shake and bruise? And he ached to get away, not to have to face this.

Renarin bowed his shoulders forward and stood. He turned to Kaladin, reaching out his hands. He kept his distance.

Kaladin tensed from his shoulders to his fists, nails digging into soft flesh.

“No.”

“Kaladin.” Renarin took a step forward. “I’m sorry.”

“I couldn’t save you.” The emptiness burned. “You trusted me.”

“I just wasn’t fast enough.” Renarin’s hands twitched, and he pressed them tight to his side. “I should have been with you, I should have been following you, but I  _ wasn’t.  _ It was my fault, Kaladin.”

“No.”

He turned. To run. Run where? This wasn’t truly the Shattered Plains. Highstorms brought visions. This must have been a vision.

“No,” Kaladin said, voice shaking. “I’ve failed so many, and now I’ve failed you. I was a fool to think it could ever end any differently.”

“You never failed me.”

Renarin let out a choked breath. He touched Kaladin so lightly he barely felt it. A hand on his arm.

“I’ve been watching you,” he said. “I’m sorry it took so long for me to learn how to send these visions. Seeing you like this…”

“You’re still dead,” Kaladin said. “How can you be here? Why?”

He wouldn’t turn. He wouldn’t look at Renarin. His lips slightly open, eyes wide and pained. Kaladin knew what he’d see, and his heart was already broken enough.

“I’m Honor,” Renarin breathed. His hand on Kaladin’s arm pulled away, then moved to his shoulder. “Honor was remade, and I… Kaladin, I have to tell you something. What happened to the spren.”

“Then tell me.”

Renarin’s hand moved again. His fingers brushed against Kaladin’s jaw.  “Honorspren,” he said. “Honor was remade, but to do that… Every shattered piece is now here. With me.”

“Syl.” Dark, heavy emptiness filled his chest.

“She’s here,” Renarin said, words soft as his touch. “She’s part of me, now. I’m sorry. I’ll figure out how to return the spren. I swear.”

Kaladin bowed his head. Breath. Deep breaths.

“Can she speak?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Not yet.” Renarin pulled his hand away. A moment later, he spoke again, softer still. “She misses you terribly.”

Kaladin forced out a breath, feeling the tears stinging at his eyes.

“Of course,” Renarin said slowly, “that could just be me.”

One more deep breath, and Kaladin turned. Renarin had forced a smile on, smoothing down his coat.

One moment and Renarin was in his arms, and Kaladin knew he could never let go.

“I’m sorry,” Renarin choked. He clutched Kaladin’s back, forcing his breath long and slow.

He said nothing, feeling Renarin breathe and running a hand along his shoulder, then up through his hair.

“Then,” Renarin said, and gave a gentle laugh, “I suppose it’s no use being sorry. I’m still dead.”

“You’re here,” Kaladin said. He gripped the back of Renarin’s head tight.

“I’m not sure.” Through his coat, Kaladin felt Renarin’s fingers digging into his back. “Maybe I’m not. Perhaps this is only Honor. No more Renarin than I am Syl.” He gave another bark of laughter. Renarin tended to, when nervous. “No.” He leaned into Kaladin’s shoulder. “The way I feel right now has to be Renarin.”

Kaladin felt his mouth dry, leaning his face against Renarin’s head. They fell at the knees, Renarin falling first and Kaladin collapsing with him.

“I’m sorry,” Renarin said, arms wrapped around Kaladin’s neck. “You tried so hard to protect me. You worked so much to keep from losing anyone again. And now… I’ve been watching you, Kaladin.”

“Quiet.”

Kaladin slid his hand to the side of Renarin’s face, and pulled him up until their foreheads rested against each other.

“Renarin,” he whispered, tucking hair behind the boy’s ear. “Syl.”

“We’ll always be looking out for you.” Renarin’s voice was bare whisper. He slowly let his arms go limp. “We’ll never leave you.”

“I can’t—” Kaladin choked and pulled away. “I’ve come to depend on you— both of you.”

“I know.” Renarin rested his hand on Kaladin’s. “Syl— I think this must be Syl— wants you to keep fighting. There are still so many who need you. Still so much good you can do.”

“And you, Renarin?”

He pulled away. “I need you.” His touch was so soft as his hand brushed away, down Kaladin’s leg and then to his own chest. He shook his hands in rhythmic little motions, looking towards the fire in the distance and not at Kaladin. “I’m the Almighty. Me, Kaladin. In a world where there’s you, and my father, and my brother,  _ I’m  _ the Almighty Himself…”

He bowed his head, hands flapping like a highstorm.

“I’m afraid.”

Kaladin reached out to rest a hand on his shoulder, waiting until Renarin turned to him, eyes still downcast, to move so he knelt before Renarin.

“I’m sorry,” Renarin said. His hands fluttered against his chest. “Storms, Kaladin, I… I just want to go back. I want to go home.”

“I know,” Kaladin said. “Why can’t you come back?”

He was the Almighty. Didn’t that mean—?

“I’m dead,” Renarin said. “It’s this or… moving on. If I stay, at least… at least we have this. I can watch. I can protect you. And sometimes, we can talk. It’s not enough, but it’s all I can do.”

“You’re dead,” Kaladin repeated, and the words rang hollow. His hand fell away. “Then I should be dead. It should have been me, it should have been me instead of you, but…”

“Don’t!” Renarin’s head shot up, and he grabbed Kaladin’s shoulders. His lips parted, his eyes wild and wide.

“Don’t say I’m needed,” Kaladin said. “You’re needed.”

“You’re  _ loved. _ ” He bit his lips, shoulders tensing. “Kaladin.”

“And so are you.” Kaladin opened his mouth, then shut it, then rested a hand on Renarin’s cheek. “ _ I  _ love you.”

They were quiet. Yes. Yes, he loved Renarin. Not just as Bridge Four, love for one of his men, or as part of the family they’d built. An aching admiration, something a little more desperate.

Kaladin brushed his thumb along Renarin’s mouth and looked down. “After all we’ve been through together,” he said, more to himself, “how long I’ve had you by my side...”

“We couldn’t not love each other,” Renarin agreed.

“We couldn’t.”

Kaladin pulled his hand away.

“Did you know?”

“What?”

“I loved you. Before you— died, did you know, Renarin?”

“Yes,” Renarin said. “I realized a long time ago you had to. Then, eventually I believed you could.” He pulled away, resting his hand on his neck. “Of course,” Renarin said, “it helped that the rest of Bridge Four pointed it out while teasing me for being your favorite.”

“Good.” Kaladin nodded. “I should have told you.”

“And did you know?” Renarin looked back to Kaladin. “I do love you. I’ve always loved you. Almost since I met you, really.”

“One night,” Kaladin said, choosing his words carefully, because the memories burned now, “you came to me, just to see if I was all right. I wasn’t. So you stayed. And in the morning, looking down at you…  _ Storms _ , I thought,  _ what did I do to deserve this? _ ”

Renarin nodded along, and smiled. “Of course you deserved it.”

“I never deserved you.”

“I just want to be with you.” Renarin hung his head, moving his arms up to cover it. “We don’t have much time, and then I can’t speak with you again until the next highstorm. There’s no way out. I am Honor, and I can’t be Renarin, and  _ look at you _ , Kaladin.”

“Come back,” he said. Kaladin moved to Renarin’s side. “You must be able to come back. I need you. Your father, Bridge Four… Come back, Renarin.”

“I’ll send the spren back,” Renarin said. He buried his head in his hands. “Syl. She needs to be with you. I have a duty, Kaladin…”

Kaladin reached out a hand, wrapping it around Renarin’s shoulders. He wouldn’t come back. Of course not. Even though he wanted nothing more, he wouldn’t come back.

“Honor,” Kaladin said, Renarin’s head against his shoulder. “Of course it would be you.”

“I’ll try,” Renarin said, turning to face Kaladin. Slowly his fingers crept across Kaladin’s hands. “Every highstorm, I’ll come. I want nothing more than to be by your side, I swear, but…”

Kaladin leaned his forehead to Renarin. He couldn’t breathe. “Renarin.” Alive. And Syl. Lost, but not dead, not truly dead. Perhaps— perhaps he hadn’t failed them so badly. “How are you?”

“Terrified.” He took a moment to speak. “I miss everyone. I watch, but… it isn’t the same. And all this power in my hands… I can think of so many people more qualified. My father, my brother, you…”

“You’re more than you think, Renarin. You always have been.” Kaladin pulled away, holding Renarin’s hands tight. “I have faith.”

“I can’t stay,” Renarin said, shutting his eyes tight. “There’s someone else I have to speak to. Kaladin…”

“I’ll wait.” The next highstorm. In the storms, he’d see Renarin. He was falling too fast to feel, or to think.

“We’ll be watching.” Renarin stood and turned. “Kaladin. I…”

Kaladin stood. Took Renarin by the shoulders and turned until they faced each other.

“I miss you so terribly,” Renarin said. He exhaled slowly, leaning into Kaladin’s hands. “I’ve come to depend on _ you _ .”

Kaladin shut his eyes and ran his hand through Renarin’s hair. “There’s something else you need to know,” he said. “I should have told you so long ago, Renarin. If only I’d been brave enough.”

“It’s not too late.”

Renarin’s lips were soft. He pressed them back against Kaladin’s with half a gasp.

And if only he had done this before, because a moment later it was over and Renarin was gone.

Kaladin opened his eyes to find faces crowded over him.

“Welcome back, gancho,” Lopen said. Kaladin pulled himself up— Rock, who had been holding his head, clapped him hard on the shoulder.

Sigzil had been writing. The way Brightness Navani did, when Dalinar had a vision. Or Renarin. Kaladin blinked a few times, and turned to look at everyone.

They’d heard every word that had been said.

“Renarin,” Kaladin said.

“Yes,” Sigzil said. “You were speaking to him.”

Kaladin nodded slowly. “Yes. Yes, he’s… I think I should speak with Dalinar about this.”

He stood, pushing his seat back in.

“Renarin’s what?” Lopen called, as Kaladin walked away.

Kaladin touched his lips, and smiled slightly. He turned.

“Alive.”

 

* * *

 

The cellar of the palace always smelled of smoke, and Adolin feared he would as well.

While the palace itself was nothing more than rubble and ash, belowground basements and cellars had remained intact. That was where Adolin had made his camp. It was large enough to hold his entire army, and intended for defense.

He lay in his cot, a simple luxury— these days there was no cologne, no fashion, little wine, little bathing— and attempted to wrap his mind around the truth.

Because Kholinar had fallen. Long before Adolin had arrived, Kholinar had fallen. He had come to save his home, but would have to be content to merely capture it.

The little army he’d built in his exile, of mercenaries and deserters and farmers ready to take up arms, was made of good men. They were a force to be reckoned with now, and Adolin thought of them with warmth and pride.

But he also thought of them with worry.

Adolin pulled an arm over his head and tossed aside thoughts of the war. They would take back Kholinar. His father and brother, his once-betrothed, and a man he might have called brother all fought their own war in Urithiru. One day they would have victory, but that would be meaningless if Adolin lost this war.

So he would win. There was no room for doubt.

Adolin dreamed of the old palace. The tapestries he and Renarin had run past countless times, chasing each other with toy swords and wrestling to the floor.

He dreamt of Renarin, too. Not the baby brother he still thought of him as, but a man. Renarin stood outside the door of his childhood room, watching the floor and tugging at his coat.

“Adolin,” he said.

“It’s been a long time, little brother.” He grabbed Renarin, wrapping an arm around his shoulder and mussing up his tied-back hair.

“Adolin,” Renarin repeated, backing away and smoothing his hair back into place. He took a deep, choking breath. “We need to talk.”

This all felt so real. Adolin was too aware, more aware than even waking. The diamond lamps were too bright and pained his eyes. There was a thick texture to the air, a richness to the marble walls, a ringing in his ears.

“What do we need to talk about, then?”

“This is real.” Renarin grabbed Adolin by the shoulder. “This is really me, Adolin. And— you haven’t heard, have you…”

“Haven’t heard what?”

“I died.” Renarin shut his eyes. “It really wasn’t that bad. No pain, and when the end came I wasn’t alone…”

“You died?” Adolin grabbed his brother. “No.”

Flashes of a battlefield, shouting and steel. Adolin looked down to see bloody steel run through cracked Shardplate, and he fell.

Dalinar shouted, for Renarin, his  _ son _ . Was that Kaladin’s voice?

“No,” Adolin repeated, breaking the vision, taking Renarin’s face, brushing his hair back and looking at his brother. His wonderful  _ baby  _ brother. “No, Renarin, you’re— ”

“Dead.” Renarin forced a smile. “You’ll probably get the letter soon. Jasnah knows… I don’t have the time to speak to her now. There isn’t time. Are you— ”

“You can’t be dead.” Renarin was right there, in front of him… in his dream. Or vision? Renarin had visions. So did Dalinar. Perhaps—

“I’m the Almighty,” Renarin said, stepping back. “And I kissed Kaladin.”

“You— you kissed Kaladin? You— Renarin, I didn’t even know you— Kaladin!?” Adolin choked out a laugh. That seemed real. He could accept that.

“He kissed me!” Renarin sat against the wall, head in his hands. “Something happened,” he said. “Honor was remade, and all that was needed was another soul. When I died— I had to take it. I was needed. Now I’m the Almighty, watching the world burn, and I don’t know what I’m meant to do. I have to watch you mourn me.” He looked up, and forced half a smile. “And I kissed Kaladin. Far too late.”

“You can’t be, Renarin— you can’t….” Adolin spiraled. “If anyone, it should have been me. You can’t be… no. Renarin.”

He hit the wall, hoping that pain could distract him. He knew, as surely as if he’d been there, the truth.

“I came to say you’ll be fine,” Renarin said, touching his hand to Adolin’s shoulder. “You’re an amazing leader, Adolin, and you’ve trained your army well. You can do this. I know you can.”

“But what does that mean?” Adolin demanded. “What does any of it mean, if I couldn’t save you?”

He took his brother into his arms.

Renarin backed away.

“Honor doesn’t like you.”

“What do you mean?” Adolin reached forward, desperate to hold his brother. He was desperate to hold Renarin tight, as if that could protect him from what had happened.

“I…” Renarin shook his head, and rushed into Adolin’s arms. He rested his head on his brother’s shoulder. “When I look at you, I’m sick. The parts of me that are Honor, the parts of me that aren’t me— they hate you so much, Adolin.”

He put his hand on Renarin’s head, softly tousling his hair. “What can I do? How can I help?”

He knew why this was happening. Sylphrena, Kaladin’s spren— she was honorspren, and she hated Adolin.

It was for the same reason he was exiled now. The same reason he’d left Renarin alone. He hadn’t been able to protect him, his little brother, the most important thing in his life, because of that one moment of weakness.

Renarin was silent, gravely silent. “Keep fighting, brother,” he said, words slow and heavy. “I don’t care what Honor says. I don’t. I believe in you.”

“What do you mean, keep fighting? Renarin…”

He had been so afraid, when Renarin had finally found his way to the battlefield. This was his baby brother. How could Renarin be old enough to fight?

This had to be a nightmare. Nothing more than a nightmare. He had been through this nightmare so many times, living in constant fear that he wouldn’t be able to protect his brother.

It couldn’t possibly be real. Could it?

“We were supposed to be a team.” Renarin was here, Renarin was real, and Adolin would never let anything hurt him. “Just like Dad and Uncle Gavilar.”

“We were never Dad and Uncle Gavilar.” He ran his hand through Renarin’s hair, tears stinging at his eyes. “You were always smarter than me.”

“No, I wasn’t, and you know it.” Renarin choked out half of a laugh. “We were a team, though, for those few years before…”

“We were the best team.”

“I should have left with you.” Renarin leaned his head into Adolin’s hand. “The Kholin brothers. Together.”

“You don’t deserve this exile.”

But maybe then Renarin wouldn’t be dead.

“I can’t stay,” Renarin whispered. “I wish I could, brother.”

“You can’t leave!”

He couldn’t stand to lose Renarin.

“I know.”

Renarin pulled himself away, and looked up at his brother. Adolin could say nothing. What could he do? There had to be something, some way to protect Renarin— but no. He was powerless.

“We’ll still be a team,” said Renarin. “I’ll do everything I can do help you, I promise. I’m still here. No matter what, I’ll still be here.”

“What do you mean, Renarin?” Adolin felt the warmth of tears running down his face. “I don’t know what’s going on. I don’t understand.”

“Neither do I.”

Renarin paused only a moment before rushing back into his brother’s arms.

“This isn’t goodbye,” he swore, “not really. I’ll be back. And I’ll be with you, always.”

“But…” Adolin paused, holding his baby brother as close as he could. “I can’t protect you?”

“No,” Renarin said softly. “I have to be the one to protect you, now.”

Adolin woke in a cold sweat.

It must have been nothing but a nightmare.

It must have been.

 

* * *

 

“He was you, wasn’t he?” Avn turned. The god before her stood still, no expression.

He dressed like the men in her visions, the old Alethi uniform. From the start, she’d been wondering about the hair. Why would he look so Alethi, and yet have his hair shot through with blond?

Yes, Adolin Kholin had been among Honor’s prophets, but it was more than just that.

“R,” she signed. “He was you.”

“Yes.” Honor held his hands still for a long moment, and Avn waited. “I was once him.”

“They weren’t just your prophets.” The prophets, the great reform brought after the Desolation, it all made  _ so much more sense now. _ Another Honor had ascended. Renarin Kholin. “They were your family and friends.”

“They were.” She couldn’t read his face.

“So that’s why your brother devoted his life to faith.” She breathed softly. Don’t think of your own family, Avn. “In your name.”

“Don’t speak of that man.” His signs were formed stiffly. “What he did was not in the name of Honor, and it never was.”

She stepped back. It had never occurred to her to fear before, but this was a god before her after all. She could feel the hatred. “He was your brother.”

“He was the brother of a man I once was.” Honor took a deep breath and looked right past Avn. “I am Honor. That man was a coward.”

“Because he killed the Highprince.”

“Because he killed him like a  _ coward _ . A fit of rage, and then refusing to take the responsibility. He was defending no one and nothing.” Honor shut his eyes. “I was once blinded by love, but that man was no brother of mine.”

Avn nodded along slowly. She could think of nothing to say.

All she could think of was what she had seen. Of Renarin Kholin, who once upon a time had loved his brother.

No wonder she’d never suspected before. She didn’t think anything of Renarin Kholin was in the god before her today.

 


End file.
